Fanghunters (4 page)

Dom
pulled
up
outside the gates of the biggest mansion he’d ever laid eyes on, wondering if
he’d got the wrong address. He killed the engine, then turned and gawked in awe
at the building ahead of him. It was like something from that TV show:
The
Bold & the Beautiful
. Another freakin’ world.

After responding to the classified on the
deep web, he got into an email exchange with the owner of the huge house. He
discovered that the guy seeking a vampire hunter on the dark web was Beauchamp.
Vincent Beauchamp. He was the founder and CEO of the biggest enterprise Dom had
never heard of. From what he understood, they were into tech: weaponry,
chemicals, whatever, it was beyond him. According to their masked email
exchanges, Beauchamp’s daughter became a fanghead before she OD’d on venom;
something Dom wasn’t even aware you could do until now. Beauchamp had managed
to locate the whereabouts of said vamp, and now he wanted to get his revenge.
Being too old to storm into a vampire’s nest and snuff him out himself, he was
outsourcing. And that was where Dom came in...

On the drive all the way up to the mansion,
he kept asking himself if any of this was real. The guy living inside was a freakin’
millionaire, for Chrissakes and he wanted a vampire hunter?
No way...
The plot was getting more surreal as the clock ticked by. For a while Dom
thought that this whole thing might just be a dream; he was actually passed out
from too much partying on some couch somewhere downtown, and he was living this
weird nightmare of vamps, venom, and millionaires.

He stared at his tired eyes in the rear
view and flicked his cheek.

“Ow...” he gasped, grabbing his now
stinging cheek.

Definitely real, buddy. So, soak it
up...

And go meet your first client.

Dom straightened his back and nodded.

It all still felt weird as he leant out his
window and pushed the button on the intercom, but hey, everything was weird
now, so it made no difference. He was still unsure. This whole thing could be a
joke. A prank at his expense.

There’s only one way to find out, buddy.

There was no response from the intercom
other than the gates clanging into life and opening up of their own accord. Dom
watched them as they swung away, allowing him entrance. Now, the whole mansion
and surrounding grounds were in view. They stretched for what seemed like
miles. It must be great not having any neighbors to bother you. And no
landlords...

And stationed nice and discreet on the
outskirts of Chicago, not caught up in the chaos and mess of the city. Dom
kinda envied Beauchamp, but at the same time feared him. He was powerful, no
doubt expecting some experienced, hard-boiled vampire hunter to be crossing his
threshold.
Hey, how many vamps you snuffed, Dom?
To be honest, a big fat
zero, but we’ll negotiate a suitable price for my services...

Dom groaned. A guy with this much wealth
would obviously want to get value for his money. How could Dom offer that?

He clasped his steering wheel tight. “I’ll
get the job done for the guy!” he said to the empty car through clenched teeth.
“I’ll make sure of it.”

Okay, buddy. You roll with that. Now you
gonna sit here all day?

Dom huffed and got the car in gear. He
rolled past the gates and was soon swallowed by expense and class. The expanse
of grass surrounding him had been cut to perfection, every blade identical in
height. In the distance, lines of tall trees marked the boundaries of the
grounds. The mansion itself was immaculately well-kept. Clean, pristine. Quaint
shrubs and bushes lined the gravel path that led up to the front doors. The
afternoon sun was peeking out from behind a grey cloud, giving the area a nice,
hazily-bright quality. As Dom fully entered the grounds, he realized that the
place was quiet. Dead. No security, no gardeners, maids. Nothing. It was like a
scene from one of those post-apocalyptic movies where the world still spun even
though it was devoid of human activity. He rolled slowly up the gravel path
like Mad Max in his last stand, feeling alone in the big, empty world.

He made it to the end of the lane and he
stopped, killing the engine straight after. He had another look around.
Nothing. He glanced up at the myriad of windows glinting in the daylight. Not a
curtain twitched.

This better not be a frickin’ joke...

Dom sighed as he threw his door open and
stepped out, his sneakers crunching on the gravel below. He swung the door shut
and stared up at the massive house, still unable to digest where he was.

Well, here goes nothing.

Hands on hips, he stepped up to the front
door. He searched for the doorbell, spotted it. Then pushed it. A tinkling rang
out from inside. He waited, licking his hand and neatening his hair, breathing
into his fist to check his breath. He could’ve done with a shave, but it was
too late for that now. About ten seconds passed and he began rocking on his
heels, apprehension setting in. At any moment, he expected to hear heavy
footsteps and then for an oversized lump with square shoulders and dead, droopy
eyes to open the door and say: ‘
you rang,
’ in a slow, deep voice.

That or a hunchback.

He got neither. The door finally clicked
open. Dom became perfectly still, and flashbacks to the other day when knocking
at his old house for Dad began playing in his mind. He swallowed, and tried to
put on a grin. He failed miserably.

The door came open fully and a slender man
with a lined face and side-parted silver hair stood in the doorway. He had
friendly, but sorrowful blue eyes that for some reason appeared a lot older
than they actually were. He wore a casual pastel cotton shirt, grey trousers,
and smart, shiny shoes.

He stared at Dom with a puzzled expression:
raised eyebrow, slightly open mouth.

Dom cleared his throat. “Mr. Beauchamp?” he
asked in what he realized was a croaky voice.

The older man’s gray eyebrows jumped
upward. “Ah, you must be Dominic.”

Dom smiled. “That’s right.” He scratched
the back of his head. “Sorry I’m a bit late, my car kinda broke down on the way
here.”

The corners of Beauchamp’s mouth turned up
into a smile. “Not to worry, my boy. These things have a habit of occurring
when one least expects.” He spoke with a regal English accent, the kinda thing
the Royal family used, or almost all the bad guys in the movies. “Do come in,”
he then said, ushering Dom into his home, “we have plenty to discuss.”

Dom nodded and entered, making sure to wipe
his sneakers on the welcome mat beforehand.

*****

Beauchamp led Dom through a huge lobby
and into an adjacent room with what looked like a conference table; the kinda
thing mafia dons sat around when discussing how to carve up the city in movies
like
The Godfather
. Hanging on the walls in an unceremonious fashion were
heads of various stuffed animals: moose, deer, antelope. Dom couldn’t tell if
they were real or fake. Either way, they were nonetheless creepy, watching his
every move.

“Take a seat, my boy,” Beauchamp said
pointing at a chair with his open hand. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Er...”
I could murder a Bud right now,
dude.

Try and be professional, Dom. At least
try...

“Fruit juice will be fine, Mr. Beauchamp.”

“Righteo,” Beauchamp replied. “I’ll be back
in a jiffy.”

Dom frowned.
A jiffy? He’ll probably
bring back afternoon tea and scones.

Beauchamp left the room, leaving Dom alone
with the heads on the walls. He rolled his eyes round in their sockets in a
nervous manner, feeling their stares, the tick-tock of the grandfather clock
standing to attention on the opposite side of the room the only audible sound.
The sun was now shining through the windows and lighting everything up, it
glinted off the ornate silver candlesticks on the dust-free table, as well as
the glass on the front of the oak suites lining the walls. Inside were various
trinkets: more silver, statuettes, carvings, pottery. Old man Beauchamp was a
collector of things.

Without realizing, Dom began thrumming his
fingertips on the surface of the table. It was a reaction to the eeriness of
the empty mansion and all those heads staring at him.

Just play it cool, buddy. He seems like
an alright kinda guy.

Dom nodded.
Yeah, he seemed alright. A
bit of a scatterbrain, but okay.

Just then he came scuttling back into the
room with a glass in his hand and a grin on his face. “I found a carton of
grapefruit juice in the cupboard. Hope it will be to your taste.”

“That’ll be great,” Dom replied.

“I took the liberty of adding ice as it wasn’t
refrigerated.”

“Ice is cool, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom said with
a chuckle.

“Indeed it is, my boy. Which is the very
reason I added it to your drink.”

He placed a small coaster on the table and
then the glass on top. Dom smiled, guessing Beauchamp didn’t quite get his
joke.
Maybe a bit too cryptic there, buddy. He’s old, and he’s from abroad.

 Dom let him off. The old guy had pineapple
juice in stock and that made him good in Dom’s books. “Cheers,” he said,
picking up the glass and taking a long gulp. It slipped nicely down his dry
throat.

“Good health,” Beauchamp said, pulling up a
chair a couple away from Dom’s.

Dom placed his glass down and gasped in
satisfaction. “That hit the spot.”

Beauchamp placed his palms on the surface
of the table. “Now, my boy. Down to business.”

Dom nodded. “Absolutely.”

“As I’ve outlined during our brief email
exchanges,” Beauchamp began, “I’ve managed to make contact with an ex-fanghead
called Max.”

Another one of those bouts of weirdness
stuck Dom again. It was hearing this posh English guy actually say the word ‘fanghead’.

Vincent continued. “He was under the
influence of the same vampire that managed to...” His voice began to waver. He
took a deep breath to control himself. “Snare my daughter, Patricia.”

Dom nodded in understanding and sipped more
juice.

Beauchamp sat upright in his seat and
clasped his hands together. “Now, I want him dead,” he said in an
uncompromising tone. “The vampire that is, not Max.”

“Of course, Mr. Beauchamp, I fully
understand and sympathize. And that’s why I answered your classified.”

Beauchamp rapped his knuckles on the
surface of the table. “Good. Now, I believe you too were a victim of a vampire.”

Dom shivered involuntarily. “I was.”

“So how did you de-fang yourself?”

Dom swallowed more juice from his glass and
looked around him, locking eyes with an antelope. “I’ve gone cold turkey. I
realized losing the ones I love would be worse than staying with…” He
swallowed. “
Him
. Maybe I got lucky.” Dom then burst into laughter. He
grabbed his forehead. “Sorry, Mr. Beauchamp. It just feels weird talking about
vampires to someone like you. Someone so rich and successful that is...”

Beauchamp nodded. “Yes, life can be full of
surprises at times. I never thought I’d be here hiring someone to kill a
vampire for me, but
hey ho
.”

Dom chuckled. “
Touché.
”

“So, have you killed any of them before?”
Vincent then asked, staring straight at Dom.

Dom looked down sheepishly. He shrugged. “
Mmm
,
kinda, not as yet.”

“
Ah...
”

Dom’s eyes shot up to meet the old man’s. “But,
trust me, I’m keen to do something about it,” he said, injecting some
assertiveness into his voice.

Vincent stared back at him with grave eyes.
“Are you sure you’re up to it, my boy? I don’t want to be the one who sends you
to your demise.”

My demise? You serious?
“I’m one hundred percent sure, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom replied in a
steady tone. “Or I wouldn’t have bothered with the journey up here. I’m
committed. I got nothing to lose.”

Nicely played, bud...

Dom held a sincere stare on Beauchamp’s
wizened face. Beauchamp nodded his head, scrutinizing the younger man sitting.
Dom stared into his blue eyes, and for a split second, he felt like he was
staring into the eyes of
him
. The illusion was swiftly shattered once
Beauchamp spoke again. “So, tell me more about them.”

Dom puffed his cheeks. “I don’t know where
they come from or how many there are, there could be thousands for all I know.
They like to hideaway in the dark, strictly keep a small brood of fangheads,
usually two, so as not to draw attention to themselves. They get you to do
their dirty work for them: keep them safe, look after them while they sleep,
that kinda stuff. In return for that, you get your hit of venom.”